


Do Demons Dream of Electric Cars?

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Future!Omens, Gen, Short, The Bentley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley doesn't like the future as much as he thought he would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Demons Dream of Electric Cars?

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/148865447285/if-you-want-some-good-omens-prompts-how-about-fake

“Noooooooooooooooooo!”

The late afternoon stillness was shattered by the cry. All of London heard it.

A few moments later the sound of an antique engine roared through the city, and a black machine appeared, eating up the road in record time. It screeched to a halt in front of a dusty storefront.

The door slammed open. Aziraphale looked up from his tablet* and removed his goggles. “Oh dear, is everything all right?”

*He had finally decided to catch up with current technology, as Crowley’s constant harassment pushed him to do, and get one of those tablets with holographic interface. Crowley’s efforts proved relatively fruitless, however; he had sprung for an older model that used augmented reality goggles. It was already decades behind and was therefore not so much cutting edge as a dull pair of scissors.

“No,” Crowley said, slamming a device on the counter in front of Aziraphale. It was a good thing humans had developed shatter-proof mobile devices by then, because he slammed it quite hard. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale peered at the screen dubiously. It showed a headline that read, “NEW BRITAIN JOINS 76 COUNTRIES TO BAN TERRESTRIAL AUTOS.”

“They’re making cars that go on the ground illegal,” he fumed. “Apparently because they’re dangerous, and dirty.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think they might have gotten the impression of danger from watching Crowley drive. “Well, they do produce much more emission than hovercars,” said Aziraphale. “Poor Pollution is probably having a fit right now as well.”

“You did do this!” said Crowley. “I know you did! Trying to clean the planet up or something! Fewer traffic accidents!”

Aziraphale guiltily thought that he had inspired a few politicians who were amenable to the idea of propagating greener technology, but as far as he could recall he hadn’t done this specifically. “It wasn’t me, dear boy.”

Crowley’s head thumped on the counter miserably. “She’ll be illegal. I won’t be able to drive the Bentley anymore.”

Aziraphale sniffed, pulling his goggles back on and re-engaging his tablet. To Crowley, it looked like he was tapping empty air and a blank screen, and the part of him that was nosy** was incredibly irritated by it. “I thought you thrived on rule-breaking, Crowley. Surely you could just drive it anyway?”

**All of him.

Crowley tapped his screen and flicked through the article. “That’s not it,” he said morosely. “They’re removing the roads to enforce it. They’ll leave the landing pads, but 90% of the asphalt is going to be turned back into greenery. Better for the planet or something.” He scoffed.

“I think it’s a grand idea. I think they finally came around when they noticed there were only four species of tree left.”

Crowley continued to flick through his screen, his chin on his hand. “I don’t want to hear about you supporting the humans’ grand ideas to save the planet and be environmentally conscious. When paper books were phased out, you threw a hissy-fit and refused to part with them until the police came to confiscate them.”

“They weren’t _police_ ,” said Aziraphale. “And they weren’t _confiscated_. I’ve got them all right here.” He ran his hand down his tablet and gestured to the chunky computer behind him.

“Not much different than the library of Alexandria, is it?” said Crowley.

“…Let’s not talk about that.”

Crowley heaved a huge sigh, and Aziraphale said, “Crowley, you survived for almost six millennia before cars were invented. How did you deal with everything before you got the Bentley?”

“Flew, mostly,” he said glumly. “’supose I’ll have to go back to that, although these hover models aren’t as stylish of a way to go about it, even if they save your wings from getting tired….”

“Look,” said Aziraphale, “if it really bothers you that much, you could just upgrade the Bentley to a hover model. They do it rather inexpensively nowadays.”

“No,” snapped Crowley. “I would never. She deserves better than that.”

Aziraphale shrugged unsympathetically. “Then have fun not being able to use it to get anywhere in the countries you want to be in.”

“They’re not the same,” he said. “They’re just… ” He made awkward grabbing motions at the air, as if trying to grasp what he was trying to say.

“What’s wrong with them?” said Aziraphale. “They’re rather convenient. Much faster.”

It was the sound, Crowley realized. The Bentley purred and roared and growled. He’d never heard any hovercar so much as cough. They were whisper-quiet, or when they did make a sound it was a sort of weird bubbling sound no vehicle with an engine should ever make. That, and they mostly steered themselves and hardly let you do anything. It was infuriating.

“They don’t have the same pizazz,” he said.

When Aziraphale looked at him, Crowley could see shrunken, misshaped versions of the illustrations from the manuscript he was reading shining in his goggles. “Pizazz.”

“You know.” He made a sort of flicking gesture with his hand.

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale. “Well, let me know what you decide. If you’re not going to transport me around anymore, I might have to invest in one of my own.”

Crowley scrunched his hand, and his screen blanked out. “Whatever,” he sighed.

The next day Aziraphale’s ears pricked up at a putt-putt-putt sound approaching his storefront. He peeked his head out the door to see an antique black car drifting down from the sky, with one indignant and slightly embarrassed demon in the driver’s seat. “Get in, angel.”


End file.
